


Deceit

by flecksofpoppy



Series: Marco Bodt Appreciation Week 2016 [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Marco Bodt Appreciation Week, POV Second Person, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5957698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short poem (?!) for Marco Bodt Appreciation Week, Day 2, Prompt: “Feint of steel/faint of heart”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deceit

**Author's Note:**

> I know. 
> 
> It's a poem about Marco.

_First hour._  
There’s grit in your mouth from the dusty training field  
and your mother’s cautionary tale about the military being hell  
echoes in your head, even as you pretend not to believe it.  
You’ve never been a good liar, especially to yourself.

 _First day._  
You learn that your limbs are valueless,  
your blades easily dulled, your boots need patching,  
but that deceit is invaluable. You meet a boorish boy  
who’s also terrible at lying; somehow, you like his chaos.

 _First month._  
Three dead, and you faint over your  
first body, seeing it there as lies gather about whether  
the instructor actually cut the safety line.  
Flies swarm, and you count your heartbeats carefully.

 _First year._  
There are lies in your mouth about what happened to Krista,   
about how you don’t faint under duress; promise that you won’t fail.  
But the webs you consider weaving are badly constructed and weak,  
and you know it is not how you will succeed.

 _Top Ten._  
You wonder what unicorns dream of once they’re truly myths,  
about how a man earns the right to wear the insignia of the Military Police.  
But you also dream of yourself as a myth, and the dust you survived  
chokes you, becomes poison you swallow in your sleep.

 _Last day._  
As hell swirls below Trost’s broken rooftops, you pause to ask an honest question  
into the rose-tipped clouds—what are we fighting for?  
You ask, despite knowing it has no answer, knowing that philosophy isn’t for soldiers.  
But you can always lie about being faint of heart behind a bullet.

 _Last minute._  
You don’t know you’re going to die until you’re crying.  
You hear a demand, then question in Reiner’s voice, like a child.  
There is death from above and from below,   
and you wonder, just for a moment, what other lies you would have told.

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a tumblr.](http://flecksofpoppy.tumblr.com/) c:


End file.
